Wordplay
by Zetta
Summary: Bruce muses on the child who has entered his life. Dick enjoys making new words.


Bruce knew that Dick was getting tired, simply by the way his chattering had slowed down. At first Dick had been full of questions and curiosity, wanting to touch and see everything from the giant dinosaur to Batman's suit to the car. He'd wandered around the cave, touching and looking at everything and asking any question that came to mind..

After a quick tour, Bruce had settled in at the computer, keeping half an eye on his young ward while also trying to play catch up on reading a few specific police reports and running searches on two men he'd tangled with the night before.

Dick wandered over to stand next to him. "What're you doing?" he asked.

Bruce saved one of the files and started to click on the next. He paused, realizing that there were probably pictures of the victim, and that was something he didn't want Dick to have to see. He switched instead to the search for the two criminals. "I'm going to look for some men I met last night," he said. "I want to find out their names, and who they usually work for. If they work for who I think they do, I want to set a trap for their boss."

Dick leaned on the chair. "Can I watch?"

"It's pretty dull," Bruce said. "But if you want to, yes. Let me get you a chair," he said, preparing to stand.

But Dick crawled onto his lap first. "That's okay," he said, unaware of Bruce's complete shock at a child in his lap. Dick squirmed a little, shifting around until he was comfortable. Bruce found himself automatically responding, an arm sliding around the boy to keep him in place. Dick rested his head against Bruce's chest. "Who's their boss?" he asked, like he hadn't sent Bruce into a quiet swarm of panic and joy and confusion by the boy's complete comfort with him.

Bruce had to clear his throat to answer. "One of the crime families in Gotham," he said. "A bad guy called Sal Maroni."

"Sal Maroni," Dick repeated. "Sal Maroni. And he's the boss?"

"I think so. That's what I want to find out." Bruce slid the chair closer to the computer, his reach slightly shortened by the child on his lap. "If I can find out whether the two men I saw work for Maroni, or one of his men, I'll have a better idea of what they're after, and I can use that to… convince them to talk to me," he finished, unwilling to explain what convincing the two men might involve.

Dick nodded a little and fell quiet, content to watch as Bruce clicked through picture after picture on the screen.

He found one of the men fairly quickly, but there was no connection to Maroni or anyone else that he could find. It took another twenty minutes of searching to find the other one, but it came with the quiet satisfaction of the connection he'd been looking for.

He looked down, prepared to explain this to Dick, and was surprised to realize that the boy had fallen asleep.

The boy's eyes were shut, his mouth slightly opened as he slept. One hand was tangled in Bruce's shirt, and despite what Bruce would have considered a very uncomfortable position, he was apparently content. Bruce couldn't help but just look at him. The absolute trust that Dick displayed in him was mind boggling. Bruce couldn't remember having that much faith in anyone at Dick's age. Even before his parents had been murdered, Bruce had been uncomfortable with strangers, and physical affection with his parents had been limited.

He couldn't remember falling asleep in his father's arms, or his mother's. And it wasn't that they hadn't been affectionate- it was just that it wasn't their style to be physically so. His mother had kissed him, his father had ruffled his hair. They'd told him they loved him, and had hugged each other sometimes, and he had foggy memories of being tucked in on occasion when he'd been very young.

Bruce had never had the slightest doubt that they loved him, but there was a formality in them, and in Bruce himself as a result, that meant that they just hadn't done things that way.

Alfred had been in a position of being an employee of a child, and had strict ideas of proper behavior of his own, and so he'd held back too. Alfred had admitted a few months ago, when they'd first brought Dick home, that he regretted that. But he hadn't known what else to do. Having the guardianship of a grieving eight year old thrust upon him had shaken him severely. He'd drawn back to what he had grown up with, and what was expected of a proper British butler- distance and formality.

Dick had spent the weeks after his parents' deaths in foster care, and then in the detention center, and when he'd first come to the manor he'd been quiet and frightened, and recovering from a nightmare which hadn't given him a chance to grieve.

Bruce had half imagined that Dick would stay like that, quiet and reserved and a little angry, and he'd been prepared for that. It was what had first made him think of applying for the full time guardianship of the boy, the similarities in their losses coupled with the intense grief that he'd seen after.

But it hadn't taken long to realize that Dick was nothing like he had been. There was grief and anger, and for a time there was even a sense of solemness to the child, but Dick's natural nature was brighter and more cheerful. He grieved, but he could also see light, where Bruce had seen none. He was angry, but he channeled it, used it, and let it go.

Bruce had never gotten to that last step.

Dick wanted to fight to help people, to save them from what had happened to him, but also because he wanted to save them.

Bruce, somewhere along the way, had lost "them" and replaced it with Gotham. His was a battle to save the city. Dick saw it as saving the people, and pushed every day to learn more, so that Bruce would let him help.

Dick didn't seem to realize that he already did help. Bruce had never felt such affection for anyone in his life, even Alfred. Alfred was a steady constant support, and Bruce loved him dearly. But Dick, this boy, this child, was quickly becoming a reason to get up every day.

Dick stirred his his sleep, nuzzling against Bruce's arm. Bruce gently lifted him up, cradling him against his chest, a little dazed by the explosion of affection he felt as the boy snuggled closer to him. Dick nuzzled against him again as Bruce carried him across the cave and then up the stairs.

Alfred was nowhere in sight, and Bruce figured he was probably in the kitchen. The butler tended to use the evenings to inventory the pantry and make shopping and chore lists, and to watch Jeopardy, his guilty pleasure.

Dick hadn't stirred during the walk up to his bedroom, across the hall from Bruce's. But he blinked foggily up at Bruce as Bruce was tugging his socks off. "Batcomputer," he said groggily.

"What's that?" Bruce asked, pulling off the other sock.

"It should be the Batcomputer. 'Cuz it's different than the regular 'puter." He smothered a yawn with his hand.

Bruce raised a brow. "All right," he agreed, figuring that it was easier than arguing. "It's a Batcomputer. Sit up," he requested, deciding that if Dick was awake he'd put him in his pajamas after all.

Dick sat up and raised his arms so Bruce could pull his shirt off, then obediently undid the button on his jeans to tug them off too.

Bruce made a small face at the Superman PJs that were pulled out at the end of the bed but helped Dick get dressed into them.

"And the car too," Dick said. "It's not just a regular car."

Bruce hmm'd. "Arm," he requested, and Dick obligingly stuck his arm out into the sleeve of the nightshirt.

"It's a Batcar," Dick said.

Bruce knew it was ridiculous, but couldn't stop himself. "It's not a car," he said.

"Battruck?" Dick said.

"It's… an automobile," Bruce said. "It's not a car or truck." There, he thought. Dick couldn't use that, a Batautomobile would be a little too ridiculous, even for this child.

"Batmobile," Dick declared after only a moment's thought.

Bruce winced a little, trying to come up with an argument against it.

"You've got too many other black cars and trucks," Dick said sleepily, lying back down now that he was in his bedclothes. Bruce pulled the sheet and blanket up over him. "We gotta know which one you're talking about."

Bruce wasn't sure why they would need a special name for Batman's car- automobile, he corrected himself with amusement - but decided that this too was not worth the argument. "All right," he agreed. "Batmobile it is."

Dick smiled a little. "Alfred needs a name," he added.

Dick was already half asleep again. "We'll talk about it tomorrow," Bruce said. "Get some sleep."

Feeling slightly awkward,, he ran his fingers through Dick's hair, smoothing it back.

Dick made a satisfied sound, his eyes fluttering closed. "Night, Bruce," he murmured.

"Good night, Dick," Bruce responded, and continued to sit there for a while as Dick quickly slipped back to sleep, wondering at the overwhelming number of feelings that this child brought out in him, and how he'd let things get so far.

Bruce really didn't think much about Dick's new penchant for naming things. He didn't mention it at breakfast, though Bruce was running behind and didn't do more than switch his coffee into a thermos and hurry out the door.

It didn't come up that night either, nor the rest of the week, and by Friday, Bruce had pretty much forgotten about it.

When he got home from work that afternoon - sticking to his playboy reputation meant he always went in late and left early, and usually spent Saturday and Sunday working to make up for it- Alfred and Dick were not upstairs. Bruce changed out of his expensive suit and tugged on something a little more casual for the afternoon of training he was planning on, and went down to the cave, figuring he would find his young ward and Alfred.

He did find them.

He also found dozens of pieces of paper taped to different pieces of equipment, almost all with Dick's childish handwriting.

"-is the Batcomputer," Dick was telling Alfred as he taped a piece of paper to the massive display of monitors.

"Indeed," Alfred said, looking and sounding quite amused. "We will certainly not confuse things any longer, shall we?"

"Nope," Dick agreed brightly. "'Cuz now we know when we want this computer it's the Batcomputer and when we want the other computer it's the regular computer.

Bruce stepped a little further into the cave. To his right, the showers were now labeled "Bat-Showers". The case he kept his current suits in were titled "Batsuit Closet".

There was a Battable and Batchairs. There was a Bat First Aid Kit. A Batscope.

In the weapons closet, there were numerous notes with Alfred's careful script. Batsword. Batarangs. Bat Gas Pellets. Bat Nets. Bat Taser. Bat Bomb. Batcuffs.

Batcontroller. Bat TV.

"Bruce! Did you see? We made names for everything! Now we won't get confused if you say go to the Bat TV, we'll go down here, but if you say go to the regular TV, we go upstairs! And Alfred made the signs for the weapons because he said I'm not allowed to touch them, see? And look!"

Dick grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to the car. There was a piece of paper taped to the ground next to it that said, of course, "Batmobile."

Bruce was having trouble finding words, but Dick was too excited to let him talk anyway, dragging him back over to the weapons cabinets. "See, and he came up with the Batarang because he said it's kind of like a boomerang but it's a bat, and so it's a Batarang, see?"

Dick beamed up at him.

He glanced over at Alfred, who was watching with quiet amusement. Bruce raised a brow at him, but Alfred shrugged. "Who am I to protest?" he said lightly.

Bruce finally had to laugh. "You don't do things by halves, do you?" he said.

Dick grinned, though there was a flicker in his gaze that suggested he wasn't sure what that meant, but he was pleased to see Bruce smile. "There's something else, too," he said.

Bruce smothered a grin. Of course there was. "What's that, chum?"

Dick tugged him over to the Batcomputer, where there was an obvious addition of a new chair. "Alfred helped," he said. "But 'cuz I'm learning, he said that one day I would need one too. So…"

He spun Bruce's chair around, displaying the familiar Bat logo on the headrest. Then, he spun the other, slightly smaller chair, and displayed a yellow "R". Bruce ran his fingers over the embroidery. "R for Robin's chair," he said.

"I wanted to make Alfred get one too- he's Agent A, that's his secret name - but he said no," Dick said, glancing back at the butler. "But I think you should make him get a chair. That way we can all sit here."

Bruce felt that fierce surge of love go through him again. He leaned down and scooped Dick up. "You're a good kid, Dick," he said. "You really are."

Dick hugged him, looping his arms around his neck. "But what about Alfred?"

Bruce looked over at Alfred. "Alfred, I insist you have a seat," he said. "Dick, can Alfred borrow your seat?"

Dick looked surprised, then slightly worried, but nodded.

Alfred obediently went over and sat in the chair. Bruce took a seat in his own and settled Dick in his lap. "For now," he said. "I think I like having you sit right here better anyway."

The smile on Dick's face could have powered Gotham.

* * *

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I found a comic on Pinterest with the following exchange between Batman and Superman. I don't think the Robin they're talking about in this one is Dick Grayson, but it inspired this anyway. :)

" _I don't think he's cognizant. Pupils are dilating and his heart rate's increasing."_

" _How do you know that?"_

" _Haz-Bat suit has medical scanning capabilities and enhanced thermal imaging."_

" _Did you actually call that a Haz-Bat suit?"_

" _... It was Robin's idea."_


End file.
